


once more, before you leave

by princesskay



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 15:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20099752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: Philippe has decided to go to war against the Dutch, and Chevalier begs him not to go.A missing scene from 2x10 because I wanted a longer goodbye scene than what we are given.





	once more, before you leave

The halls of Versailles stood empty of their daytime frivolity and light. In the small hours of the night, the soft, quiet seconds growing ever smaller, the palace lay in the shadowy arms of slumber. The moon hung overhead, swollen in its largest phase like a ripe fruit ready to be plucked from the sky. Most of the nobles were asleep, unaware of the events that had transpired only fresh, few hours before. 

In the solitude, their footfalls echoed down the stone corridors like the fading notes of a song, holding on, begging someone to listen before it died away entirely. Chevalier could hardly bring himself to look up from the floor as he matched Philippe’s stride making its way back to their rooms. 

_ War was a thing he would never understand,  _ he thought. Why men willingly risked their lives on the battlefield for something as intangible and mutable as glory baffled him. He killed a man tonight because that person had hurt someone he loved. For that reason alone, he had fired the pistol. Though Louis had chosen to thank him for doing the “honorable” thing, it was Philippe’s reaction that Chevalier cared about. And it seemed Philippe was still intent upon leaving him, on going off to war against William of Orange, and facing the possibility of never returning. 

Perhaps Chevalier could have mustered his indignance if he had not been so tired. Perhaps he could have gathered his ire to confront Philippe on the matter if they hadn’t spent the last several months bickering over things that now seemed trivial in comparison to the prospect of war. In this moment, all he wanted was to put his arms around his lover and bask in the intimacy of Philippe’s skin against his own before he was gone. 

The echo of their footfalls faded into silence as they reached the door of their rooms. 

Philippe twisted the doorknob open, and waved Chevalier in ahead of him. His gaze remained fixed on the floor as Chevalier wandered past him. The dried blood on his face gave him a raw, battle-weary look despite only the presupposition of war weighing on his shoulders tonight. 

He leaned into the door to ease the latch shut. 

“Are you really going to stop using the powders?” He asked, quietly. 

Chevalier paused in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back. 

“Are you really going to war?” He replied. The question rasped from the back of his throat, holding a tremor that he hadn’t anticipated. 

There was a beat of hesitation that gave Chevalier the slightest sprig of hope before it was crushed by Philippe’s decisive answer. 

“Yes.” 

“It’s what you truly want?” 

“Yes.” 

Chevalier turned on his heel, and a cut a defiant gaze across the room. “What about what I want?” 

Philippe ducked his head, and gave a quiet sigh. “There are bigger things than-”

“Bigger than you and me? Not for me.” 

Philippe’s mouth compressed as he lifted misty eyes to Chevalier’s. He eased away from the door, and crossed the room, each step slow and thoughtful. 

“I don’t expect you to understand.” He said. 

“Understand what? That you enjoy the slaughter of war? That you think Louis’ war is integral to your life? That-”

“That I want my life to mean something.” Philippe interrupted, ire rushing to his face in the clench of his jaw. “That I want to be remembered as something more than the king’s brother, the laughing-stock of the court who liked to wear dresses.” 

“Your life  _ does  _ mean something.” Chevalier whispered, fervently, seizing Philippe’s hands. “It means something more to me, Philippe.” 

A small, trembling smile ghosted across Philippe’s mouth for a mere second before fading behind the ironclad rigidity of determination. 

“I’m sorry.” He said, quietly, withdrawing his hands from Chevalier grasp. “But I need more than that. This is what I was born to do; I feel it.” 

Chevalier would have argued instantly if not for the sudden, hot clutch of tears at the back of his throat. His hands curled into shaking fists at his sides, fighting back the urge to crumple beneath the weight of despair settling in his chest. He blinked against the moisture building in his eyes, and forced his gaze up from the floor. 

Philippe had turned his back in order to pour a glass of wine from the pitcher on the table. His shoulders gathered tensely as he lifted the cup to his mouth. 

“I’m sorry, too.” Chevalier whispered, the words falling brokenly past his trembling lips. “I’ve spent the last few months hating you for doing your duty, for being a husband, a father … I wish someone had told me that you would be taken from me again; perhaps I would have- have …” 

“Please, stop.” Philippe said, gently. He turned to cast Chevalier a compassionate gaze. “I’m not dead, yet.” 

At this remark, Chevalier bolted across the room to throw his arms around Philippe’s neck. Philippe grunted as the force of the embrace thrust them back into the edge of the table. 

“Please, don’t say such things.” Chevalier whispered, his voice muffled in Philippe’s shoulder. “I feel as if I’ve already lost you.” 

Philippe sighed as he reached up to clasp Chevalier’s cheek, and guide his head up so that their eyes could meet. Chevalier blinked against the sheen of tears in his eyes until the gentle, blue cradle of Philippe’s eyes held him clearly. 

“You haven’t.” He whispered. 

Chevalier sniffled as Philippe’s thumb stroked his cheek, dashing away stray tears. He closed his eyes to savor the sensation of Philippe’s touch, meeting with his skin for the first time in so long. Too long. 

Faintly, Chevalier wondered what exactly had been so unforgivable that he hadn’t taken the opportunity for reconciliation long before tonight. Past the haze of wine and powders, he couldn’t quite recall all that had been said and done, only the orange-burnt blaze of jealousy. He felt quite stupid now that his soul was empty at the prospect of never seeing Philippe again. 

His eyes darted open when the warm gust of Philippe’s breath heralded the wet press of his mouth against Chevalier’s. Chevalier’s eyelids batted in a surprise, catching quick glimpses of Philippe’s brow furrowed in concentration, and the wrinkle of his eyelids squeezed shut against the world. His fingers sank into Chevalier’s hair, lacing their way through the strands to find a solid grip at his nape. 

A quiet gasp lifted from Chevalier’s tongue as Philippe’s mouth broke away. He struggled to manage his quaking limbs as Philippe turned them around, and pressed Chevalier in his place against the edge of the table. 

Philippe’s hips pushed between Chevalier’s thighs, and settled firmly against the cradle of his hips, where desire sprang with fledgling pulses. 

Chevalier reached up to clutch Philippe’s cheek, bringing their foreheads together. 

“I’ve missed you.” He said, his voice a husky whisper. “I feel as if I miss you again already, and you haven’t even left yet.” 

Philippe’s fingers curled around his wrist, and he bent to press a kiss against Chevalier’s climbing pulse. “I know.” 

“Don’t stop.” Chevalier groaned as Philippe’s mouth branded a row of kisses down the inside of his wrist. “I need you, just once more, before you leave.” 

Philippe’s mouth paused against the cuff of his sleeve, and he lifted his head to pin Chevalier with a gaze burning with aching need. The affirmation lit his gaze just before he leaned in to press a bracing kiss to Chevalier’s mouth. 

Chevalier moaned as Philippe’s lips crushed across his own, tongue pushing inward to taste him. He acquiesced, letting his mouth fall open to the thrill of Philippe’s tongue, his legs to the rigid thrust of Philippe’s erection tenting his trousers. His own cock lunged against its silky entrapments, begging for flesh-against-flesh contact that momentarily seemed much too distant a possibility. 

He grasped at Philippe’s jacket, pushing the fabric from Philippe’s shoulders until Philippe lowered his arms to let it fall away. As the embroidered garment rustled to the floor, Chevalier tugged the shirt free of Philippe’s waistband, and thrust his hands underneath. 

Philippe moaned a sound of pleasure against Chevalier’s mouth as Chevalier’s fingertips explored the soft, quivering terrain of his chest and belly. When Chevalier’s wandering hands found their way to the buttons of his breeches, he pulled back with a quiet gasp. His gaze struck Chevalier’s with silent, yet fierce desire. Leaning back, he discarded his shirt over his head, and employed his own fingers to the buttons of Chevalier’s vest. 

Chevalier pushed away from the table as he urged Philippe’s breeches from his hips. 

“To bed?” He whispered, shifting his gaze to the doorway that led into the next room. 

Philippe nodded. 

They rushed across the room, and over the threshold to the bedroom. 

Chevalier discarded his vest, shirt, and shoes on the way, leaving them in a scattered trail toward the bed. When they reached the edge of the mattress, he caught Philippe by the waist, and pulled him around into a hungry kiss. 

Philippe fought with stays of his underpants for a moment before freeing himself of the last stitch of fabric between his swollen cock and Chevalier’s caress. 

Panting into Chevalier’s mouth, he rasped, “God, please, put your hands on me.” 

Chevalier’s hand dove down between them with little hesitation, seizing Philippe’s engorged cock in his palm. The shaft pulsed wildly against the rhythmic squeeze of his hand, urging a desperate moan from Philippe’s throat. 

Chevalier guided him back onto the sheets, and crawled between his thighs. Philippe sank back against the bed, his hair spilling in a gleaming, black halo around his flushed cheeks, and rosy, saliva-wet mouth. His chest rose sharply with a hitched whimper as Chevalier gave his cock one last squeeze before releasing it writhe, red and tortured, against his belly. 

Chevalier leaned back on his heels, and reached down to unbutton his breeches. 

“Is it still there?” He asked, shifting his gaze the bedside table. 

Philippe’s teeth blanched his lower lip. He nodded, his nostrils flaring with a halting breath. “Of course.”

Chevalier reached over to tug open the drawer. There, amongst the papers, quill, and books, lay the small glass vial that had once been used almost nightly. It was half full with oil, the same amount that Chevalier recalled from their last liaison, before Liselotte had come to Versailles. 

Shoving away the instant guilt that rose in his chest, Chevalier squeezed the bottle into his palm, and knocked the drawer shut. He turned back to Philippe, and arranged a smile on his mouth. 

Philippe squirmed beneath him as Chevalier rose to his knees to divest himself of his breeches and undergarments. Thoughts of the past were quick to flee as the fabric loosened and fell away, releasing his cock to throb freely towards full erection. 

Grasping him by the hips, Philippe tugged him down into another eager kiss. Chevalier’s hips fell between Philippe’s thighs, bringing their hard cocks rubbing coarsely against one another. Chevalier met Philippe’s moan of pleasure with one of his own as the rigid thrust of Philippe’s cock urged his arousal to full bloom. Slipping a hand between them, he caught Philippe’s cock against his own, and dragged his palm down the joined shafts. 

Philippe gasped, his mouth tearing free of Chevalier’s. 

“Oh, God.” He moaned, shooting Chevalier a gaze hooded with need. “Hurry.” 

Chevalier leaned back to uncap the vial of oil, and poured some out onto his fingers. He pressed his wet fingers between Philippe’s thighs, finding the taut pucker of his hole with practiced ease. He watched the first, sharp riffs of arousal dance across Philippe’s face as his finger pushed inside. He pumped his hand languidly, lathering the oil inside and out, easing Philippe’s body open his touch.

Philippe’s breaths came haltingly as Chevalier’s caress worked him open, occasionally stopping altogether when the touch found the sweet, swollen part of him deep inside. A whimper burst past the clench of his teeth, and he threw his head back against the sheets, exposing the length of his pale throat where the veins stood out, flushed and pulsing with exertion. 

Digging his heels into the mattress, he bore himself down against the lazy thrusting of Chevalier’s hand. His eyelids cracked open, his gaze darting up to find Chevalier’s with a hazy look of need. 

“More.” He rasped, his brow furling in intensely aroused concentration. 

Keeping his finger seated deeply inside, Chevalier clutched Philipppe’s knee with his other hand, and pushed his legs up and open against his chest. 

Philippe complied with a whimper, drawing his knees taut against his sides. 

Applying more oil, Chevalier spread the slickness up and down the cleft before delving two wet fingers inside. 

Philippe gasped, and clutched the bedsheets. His head tossed back and forth as Chevalier pumped his fingers in and out, discarding the gentility he had started with. 

“Oh God …” Philippe moaned, his hips arched and twisting against the ardent penetration. 

Chevalier grasped Philippe’s knee to pin him, holding him helplessly open as his two fingers curled in and out, coaxing him closer and closer towards the verge of pleasure. 

“Oh, fuck.” Philippe groaned, his eyes squeezing shut against the orgasm swelling within him. His fingers tore free of the sheets to grasp his cock, jerking on it in desperate abandon. 

Chevalier watched him claw himself towards the pinnacle for a few more moments before he withdrew his fingers. 

Philippe sank against the sheets, gasping and swearing in a choked whisper. His fingers curled stubbornly around his cock as his eyes crept open, meeting Chevalier’s with unabashed annoyance. 

Chevalier batted Philippe’s hand away from his cock, and brushed his own fingertips down the pulsating length. 

“Fuck …” Philippe whimpered, shuddering beneath the feathering caress. His belly clenched as need drove his cock to twitch restlessly, angrily, wavering on the edge of orgasm. 

Chevalier bent down to lick the swollen head, and tasted the salt of pre-cum. 

Philippe’s hips bucked at the slight, wet touch. His choked sound of need stretched into a cry as Chevalier dragged first his thumb across tiny, slick opening, and then his tongue, a second time, harder. 

“God!” He moaned, grasping at Chevalier’s hair. “Please.” 

Ignoring his plea, Chevalier drew back. 

Philippe’s fingers snagged in his hair, and Chevalier grasped his wrist to disentangle them. 

“You … stop this.” Philippe panted, trying to sound properly authoritative. 

“I’m enjoying it.” Chevalier replied, urging Philippe’s thighs open wider. 

Philippe’s mouth darted open when Chevalier’s palm pushed against his testicles, rolling the tender flesh slowly, torturously beneath his hand. 

“Please.” Philippe whimpered, arching against the sheets. “God, you … you incorrigible b-bastard.” 

Chevalier bit back a smile as the insult fell short of angry, landing somewhere in the midst of bone-deep pleasure and masochistic satisfaction. 

“You’re enjoying it.” He said. 

He dragged his palm all the way up the shaft, and back down again, where the heel of his hand applied just enough pressure to make Philippe’s squirm. 

Philippe clutched at his hair, and uttered a broken sound of tortured arousal. His thighs quivered, yet remained stretched open to Chevalier’s touch, the only indication he needed that Philippe’s cries for mercy were a part of this game and nothing more. 

Chevalier eased his caress, playing his fingertips across Philippe’s swollen testicles and the dusky length of his cock. He was so swollen with need that the veins pulsed with a deep flush the shade of purple, like a bruise both violent and tender. Pearly white gleamed at the tip, testifying just how close he was. When Chevalier pressed the finger of his other hand back into Philippe’s quivering body, he felt the aching shudder that rippled down the length of his body. 

For a moment, Chevalier thought of being merciful and letting him come, but God, if he wasn’t still selfish and unrepentant, just a little bit. He still wanted Philippe all to himself; that much had not changed, despite their time apart. He wanted it for as long as he could have it, before the moon melted away into the sun, and the light spilled back into these halls, and the color of the sky told them they had only minutes left together. He wanted to reclaim Philippe’s body as his own before it was taken by the pulse and thrust of battle, before he forgot what this pleasure felt like. Just once more, he wanted to be the center of Philippe’s universe - for this hour, for the next, for as many as he could have before this private little peace treaty shattered under the heel of war. 

Chevalier’s fingertips drifted away from Philippe’s twitching flesh. 

Their eyes met as Philippe’s choked groans died away into silence. His heavy eyelids blinked open with alert intensity, and his tongue darted across his lower lip where the flesh glowed red from the scrape of his teeth. 

“Lorraine.” He whispered, clutching Chevalier’s hips. “Fuck me.” 

Chevalier leaned pliantly into Philippe’s grasp, allowing himself to be drawn in as Philippe’s legs curled around his waist. Arching his hips up, Philippe guided Chevalier’s cock to his slick opening, and sealed the union with a squeeze of his legs. 

Chevalier’s eyes slammed shut as pleasure surged up through his chest at the warm, wet embrace of Philippe’s body taking him deeper and deeper. He sank down to bury his face in Philippe’s neck, breathing in the familiar, sweet scent of his skin.

Philippe’s legs flexed around his waist, and his hips rose up to meet the languid thrust of Chevalier’s hips. They ground disjointedly against one another for a moment before finding an equal rhythm that had Chevalier’s hips slapping firmly against Philippe’s backside. 

Chevalier pressed his eyes shut as their bodies rocked in unison, a symbiotic movement that felt as natural to him as breathing. Despite the distance that had stretched between them for the past few months, he could push those dismal and jealous thoughts far away, and hold Philippe like this as if nothing had changed. 

In the back of his mind, beyond the haze and pulse of need, he faintly wondered if that sensation - that  _ belonging -  _ was what people meant when they said  _ fate _ . The innate exhale deep in his chest when he was with Philippe was like no other peace he had ever felt, and it came surging at him now like white, foamy tide sucking the beach undertow. 

It meant something more than just one moment - he realized that now. When Philippe had suggested they start thinking of the future, he’d been angry; but in this moment, he knew he’d been right. And he knew it might be far too late for that resignation, but he had to try. 

Chevalier lifted his head to smother Philippe with a wet kiss, urging a moan from Philippe’s throat. Their mouths broke apart as their bodies jostled eagerly against one another, and Chevalier caught a glimpse of Philippe’s slack-jawed expression of lust. His cock bobbed against his belly with every thrust, undoubtedly holding Philippe’s sole attention. 

_ I love you. _ Chevalier thought, dismissing the idea as quickly as it came. 

Maybe this was their only future - finding little pockets of privacy to make each other come, and squabbling over new jackets and shoes and perfumes and silks. Maybe once Philippe came back from war they would go back to the way things were, and Chevalier could forget how empty he’d felt without Philippe, how meaningless his life had been for the past few months. He could dismiss it as jealousy, and nothing more. 

Philippe’s eyelids slipped open as Chevalier rose to brace himself against the headboard. His mouth curled in a faint, curious smile, and Chevalier looked away abruptly. 

God, had he seen the look of absolutely besotted adoration no doubt shining blatantly through Chevalier’s eyes? Had he glimpsed just enough to wonder if perhaps there was some genuine feelings in Chevalier’s selfish and careless heart after all? 

He couldn’t allow it. The consequences of such a revelation were far too dire. He had never said those three words to anyone. He had never been so vulnerable, and he was staking too much on this moment to win Philippe back to risk it by asking for commitment.

Grasping Philippe’s hip with one hand and the headboard with the other, Chevalier hastened the pace of his thrusting to push himself over the edge and away from these precarious, sentimental thoughts. 

Philippe’s eyelids slammed shut once more, breaking that visual connection and plunging them both back into the throes of pleasure. He grasped at his swollen cock while Chevalier’s hips pumped against him, and this time, Chevalier didn’t stop him. 

Chevalier focused on the deft grasp of Philippe’s slender fingers winding around his cock, pleasuring himself vigorously until his body stiffened. His head threw back, exposing the length of his flushed throat, and his mouth stretched open as the orgasm struck hard. Release spilled from his cock and across his belly while his fingers continued to tug in sloppy haste. His body clenched around Chevalier’s cock, sending thrilling vibrations of pleasure through the flesh and deep into Chevalier’s core. 

The horizon of need surged closer, eradicating all thought of the future in favor of this present satisfaction. Chevalier gasped as Philippe drew his legs up against his chest and braced his feet against Chevalier’s shoulders, deepening the angle of penetration. On the next thrust, Chevalier felt his balls push against Philippe’s hole, and his cock seat as deeply as it could. 

Philippe cried out, his body arching from the sheets. 

“Oh God!” He moaned, his hand searching for purchase as Chevalier’s hip. 

Chevalier continued thrusting, steadily pounding deeply into him and jarring a hoarse from Philippe’s throat upon each impact. His rapid pace quickly dragged him under, and he cried out in joyful abandon. His mind blanked white pleasure, a welcome relief. He sank into it, letting his body be carried away by the spasms of orgasm that lasted for moments all too brief. 

As the tide of pleasure dispersed and his body ceased its shuddering, he withdrew from Philippe’s body and sank to the sheets in heap of trembling limbs. 

They lay side-by-side, both of them breathing in raspy exhilaration until they were calmed and quiet. 

“God, I feel as if my insides have been rearranged.” Philippe said, offering a quiet, conspiratorial chuckle. 

Chevalier mustered a sly smile. “Did you expect anything less? Or had you forgotten what it’s like to share a bed with me?” 

Philippe’s expression sobered, his eyes holding Chevalier’s with sudden tenderness. “No … I hadn’t forgotten.” 

Chevalier glanced away, his throat growing tight. “No … me either.” 

Silence stretched between them, filled occasionally by the shift of the wind against the panes, and the quiet groan of the walls settling. The minute details of this room, the centerpiece of their life together, converged on him in the silence, even the crackle of the fireplace in the front room sounding to him like the threads of them breaking apart. 

Chevalier rolled over, putting his back to Philippe as emotion rose up fiercely in his chest to strangle him. Pressing his eyes shut, he fought back the tears that stung the corners of his eyes. 

“Lorraine.” Philippe said, concern creeping into his voice. His palm settled against Chevalier’s shoulder, squeezing gently. He let out a faint sigh. “It’s not entirely what I want, either … Leaving you.” 

“Then why are you doing it?” Chevalier replied, keeping his eyes firmly shut. 

“All my life, I’ve dreamed of this … of war, of proving myself. When Louis sent me the Spanish Netherlands, it wasn’t because he wanted to help me achieve that dream. He took that victory from me; and now, he is giving me the chance to have it for myself. I have to take it, love … I have to. Tell me you understand, even just a little bit.” 

Chevalier’s eyelids slipped open, focusing unsteadily on the wall blurred by his tears. He heaved out a sigh, and sniffed against the lump in his throat. 

“Just tell me you’ll come back.” He whispered, his voice breaking in the midst of the plea. 

“I don’t know that I can.” 

Chevalier bolted upright in the bed, and spun to cast Philippe’s vehement glare, streaked with tears. “Then lie to me, Philippe! I don’t care if it isn’t true; I simply cannot think of a world without you in it. Do not ask me to try!” 

Philippe’s gaze shimmered with fearful hesitation. He glanced away for a moment before reaching out to take Chevalier’s hands in his own. 

“I … I will come back.” He whispered. 

Chevalier nodded, pursing his lips against a fresh wave of tears. “Look at me when you say it.” He said, squeezing Philippe’s hands in a shaking grasp. 

Philippe’s eyes rose slowly to meet Chevalier’s. His jaw clenched as he swallowed back the trepidation gleaming in his gaze. 

“I’ll come back to you.” He said, his voice hardly louder than a breath.

Chevalier threw himself into Philippe’s arms, driving them back down against the sheets. He buried his face in Philippe’s neck as they settled against the pillows, limbs entwined. As he breathed in the scent of Philippe’s skin, a hundred thoughts raced across his mind. Apologies, questions, reflections, ruminations on the future. All those things he should have said when he had the chance; now, all that was left was this violent fear of loss that hung like a dark cloud above their bed. And as his tears ceased, a single thought rose above the rest:  _ I‘m sorry, and I love you.  _ It repeated in his mind as Philippe held him in silence, their bodies so entangled that the faint, fleshly borders began to fade into one another.

He tried to rouse his head from the warmth of Philippe’s shoulder, to force the thought into voice, but a deeper fear held him back.  _ Say it, before it’s too late.  _ He thought, but he couldn’t. He closed his eyes, and let sleep take him away to a place where war was a distant little word reserved for fictions and Philippe never left. Somewhere, in the depths of those dreams, the words he always meant to say tumbled freely from his lips, and their life was just as they longed for it to be. Somewhere, beyond the realm of reality - beyond court, beyond marriage, beyond war, beyond heartbreak - he was happy. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)
> 
> I'm [duc-orleans](https://duc-orleans.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!


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